What the Lake Knows

Sabrina stared at the old Polaroid in her hand. In it, a beautiful lakeside home winked back at her. Its siding a cheery yellow trimmed in a white so pure it looked like icing on a birthday cake. It seemed fitting that she would wake up in a place like that, considering tomorrow was her thirtieth birthday.

She had been dreading thirty for some time now. Especially since she lost her job, a position she held for almost four years where she busted her ass to get ahead, but only ended up further and further behind her peers. Her days were spent getting side eyed by her chauvinistic boss, passed over for opportunities, and feeling like an absolute failure. On top of that, she was single after a passionate, but rocky, relationship. In truth, she had known things with Jax were doomed—come on his name was Jax for crying out loud—but she liked his tattoos and eyebrow scar too much to turn him down. But when she discovered that no one was turning him down, not even her best—well, ex-best—friend, she officially called it quits. Those two could have each other as far as she was concerned.

Sabrina was a free agent. She didn't need a man. She didn't need a best friend. And she didn't need a job. Well, that wasn't true at all, she did need a job, and pretty damn soon actually. That was going to become a very harsh reality if she didn't do something. When the attorney contacted her about her great aunt Agatha's last will and testament, it felt like a sign. A gorgeous-two-level-original-hardwood-flooring-private-beach-access-sign.

She inherited a lake house. Her prayers had been answered. Her plan was to drive out to the house, spend the night, assess the property and put it up for sale. She'd turn a nice profit and her financial crisis would be abated while she found her new career path.

Turns out her shitty luck wasn't actually changing after all.

Sabrina lowered the Polaroid and glared at the hellish reality that stared back at her. The charming yellow cottage, with the delicate white trim, was a lie. The monstrosity that stood before her looked like the yellowed teeth of a rotted cadaver. The upper floor windows were busted and boarded over and the front porch, so sweet in the photograph with its swing and hanging plants, looked like it was about to give way under even the lightest of breezes.

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Sabrina grumbled. She flicked the photo onto the driver's seat of her beat up Grand Am and wrestled her duffle bag out of the backseat. Hoisting the bag over her shoulder she turned and screamed as she was face to face with an obese, grey haired, sallow eyed man. He screamed back at her and held his hand to his chest.

"Mr. Treeger?" Sabrina asked when her heart finally left her throat and rested in its usual place. It was the lawyer that had contacted her about her aunt's will. He looked much older than she was expecting.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he replied, bending to rest his hands on his knees. Sabrina worried he was having a heart attack. She really didn't need involuntary manslaughter added to her list of bad luck. Also she didn't want this man to die, of course.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "You just scared the shit out of me."

"You and me both." He stood to his full height, looked to the sky, and took a deep breath. When his attention returned to her, his eyes fell on the bag she carried. "Are you staying here tonight?" He asked his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Sabrina shrugged. "That's the plan. Though, to be honest, I was expecting something a little more...well, more." She said.

Mr. Treeger turned to look at the lake house and sighed. "Yes, well...it certainly has potential, doesn't it? Just look at that view."

Sabrina was going to argue, but her eyes finally rested on the lake and, she had to admit, it was pretty spectacular. The white caps rolled along the water's surface, toward the sandy shore, as birds rode the breeze. It suddenly seemed so familiar to her. Images and sensations assaulted her brain like camera flashes. Feeling his warm fingers entwine with hers. Watching a small girl build a sandcastle. Looking down at her toes dipping into the wet sand as the water washes them clean. Staring out into the dark water, oddly calm in the moonlight, but warm as a fresh drawn bath.

"Miss Delacort, are you alright?" She jolted back to reality when Mr. Treeger addressed her. She realized she was crying and hastily wiped the tear from her cheek.

"I'm fine. The wind just blew something into my eye. Most likely from this heap." She turned her attention back to the house. Anything to avoid looking out at the lake.

"Yes, well..." Treeger rummaged around in his pocket until he produced a set of keys. "Here you are. The electricity does work, as does the water, don't let it fool you. Just bang on the pipes a little to get it flowing." He pressed the key into her waiting palm and stared into her eyes a little longer than necessary. "My you do look like her, don't you?" He whispered.

"Like who?" She asked.

"What?" He replied looking startled at her question.

"You said I looked like her. Her who? Agatha?"

"Oh just rambling. I've had a long day and I really must be going. Please enjoy the house and remember just give the pipes a good what-for if needed."

And, with that, he was in his car and heading down the red dirt path, kicking up dust along the way.